


Domesticated Deserts

by phoenixacid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Crack, Deliberate Badfic, Food Sex, M/M, Minor Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Questionable Author Sanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:38:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixacid/pseuds/phoenixacid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek is a mugful of intense Roasted Hazelnut Hot Chocolate and Stiles is a Chewy Oatmeal-Raisin Cookie with a *weakness* for tall, dark and fearsome. It was definitely love at first bite, much to Scout's displeasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domesticated Deserts

**Author's Note:**

> This sad excuse for a story is written for the [Multi-Fandom Pet Peeves "Badfic" Bingo](http://phoenixacid.livejournal.com/343329.html). The 25 squares includes questionable sexual practices, excessive word emphasis, OOC characterisations, SPAG errors, character bashing, and horrible horrible abuse of epithets. You have been warned.

Stiles misses the warmth of Bacon Hills Bakery. After all, it had been Stilus' home for as long as he could remember. His formative hours were spent in the Bakery's kitchen, being kneaded by the very best bakers and moulted into the fine Oatmeal-Raisin Cookie he is now. Like all freshly baked Cookies at the Bakery, he eventually graduated from the kitchens and moved out into the Bakery's front display where he shared a tray with his loving Cookie Batch Oatmeal siblings - Matty, Duke and Kali. *Fun times* Stiles thinks sadly, staring at his current pitch-black surroundings. Stiles witches he could go back to his old home; being stuck in a tiny gloomy tin is no fun.

Stales is jolted from his musings when he feels the tin he is living in *tilts* ominously. His childhood Batch Buddy, Scout, nudges him with his uneven edge. "Hey, I think we're bein' mov-" His last words is swallowed by a terrible *groaning* sound, as the lid of the tin is *pried* open.

Darkness turns into *blindingly* bright light as a giant Human hand plucked them from the depths of the tin.

***

Stiles finds himself being gently lowered onto a plateful of Cookies. He clutches his thumping chewy centre and breathes a *huge* sigh of relief. He still has time to make his escape! Spinning around to look for Spout, his catches a glimpse of an intimidatingly Tall and Dark stiletto. Stiles startles badly but before he could fatally brain himself on the edge of teh plate, a long hard object reaches out to grab him. Nothing could stop the squeak of fear that escapes his lips.

"You should pay more attention to your surroundings, Pipsqueak."

Stiles turns around and nearly loses his oats for the voice belongs to a Vision of Pure Utter Beauty. The most Gorgeous Bishounen Specimen of a Hot Chocolate he has ever clapped his raisins on.

"Um," He ejaculates shakily, "it's S-stiles."

The soft peaks of the stranger's topping twitches upwards, caught between a sexily dirty, or perhaps dirtily sexy, sneer and a smirk. He extends his cinnamon stick, "I'm Derek."

*Oh, *hell* no!* This is not the time for Stiles to be distracted by the Very Embodiment of Smexi Hotness in front of him. Not the time to be oogling at the perfect harmony of light cream and luscious dark chocolate, all layered beautifully in that smooth and tall glass mug. Not the time to be letting his eyes linger at the wide set of glass shoulders that tapers dramatically into a narrow and strong waist. No, no, no! *Not* when the Biters are so close and his and his Batches' lives are at stake!

Derek leans in closer, close enough to breath in the little Cookie bizarrely named Stiles' overwhelming cinnamon fragrant, to almost touch that oat crusted skin. Up close, Derek can see that Stiles comes from high-quality stock, despite what his jittery demeanour and rough exterior suggests. The Cookie's outer layer has a golden amber-coloured sheen, much like the fine whiskey Uncle Petter favours, and a constellation of beauty marks in the form of plump cognac-soaked raisins covers every last inch of him. Like Midnight and Summer wrapped together in a tight sweet textured body. Derek *leaks* a little as he imagines himself tracing every single mark with the tips of his rapidly stiffening peaks - from the larger raisins in the middle, to the smaller one under the cute bump of oats at the bottom of the Honey-coloured Cookie. Melting chocolate shavings *weep* from his sides as Derek *shakes* his head, trying to pull himself together.

*To hell with it!* Stoles rolls forward and touches Derek's stick. A sharp electric sensation *strikes* deep within his chewy centre - like that one time the oven Stiles was sleeping in short-circuited because That Dumb Bitch Danny distracted Baker Miguel.

Derik continues to stroke at Stiles' sides maddeningly slowly, and Stiles lets out a pathetic mewl as his whole body seizes in a fightening mix of pleasure and lust. He tilts his centre up *wanting* more, "P-please, Dereeeeek!"

Derek loses all semblance of control and pounces.

***

Stiles rubs himself raw against Derek's hard glistening handle, growing *wetter* and *wetter* with every grind as his oats soak up the beads of surface condensation. Stiles tries *desperately* to hold on to his raisins as his bucking gets uncontrollably wilder, his chewy centre opening up to Derek's scorching heat, gaping more than ever. "Oh, Derek-sempai..." Stales chokes out, limpet raisins fluttering closed, oats trembling all over.

Drake himself isn't faring any better; his now majestically turgid whipped cream peaks are *pulsating* dangerously with every delicious brush from his petite lover, his warm chocolate body threatening to spill at any given moment.

"OI!" glares Spot, unable to contain his peanuts any more. "Get yer own plate! Missus Argent's gonna be back soon and yer horsey-ing aroun' is upsettin' the cutleries!"

Stiles and Derek are too busy masticating each other to even notice Scatt's presence.

Scott sighs. "Dumb effin' mugs," He mutters under his breathe. Urgh, not even industrial strength dishwasher will be able to scrub the image of his Batch Buddy impaling himself on Hot Chocolate's dark handle off his filling now. Snout's no xocolatophobe, and he supports Stiles' unusual tastes in chocolate drinks full-heartedly, but must he fixate on *Derek Emerald Jacque Hail* of all beverages? The Derek whose *creepy* alcoholic uncle tried to turn Scoff's peanut butter filling to jelly without his consent just minutes ago?

After a few more seconds of being ignored, Swott throws his crumbs up in despair and rolls as far away from the traumatising affair as possible. Perhaps hooking up with the adorable looking blue-ribboned Puff Pastry with curly coconut flakes in the next tray will take his mind away from his misery. As his wise Mother used to say, #YOLO.

"Are you ready to be dunked, Stiles?" Derek growled, voice rough with lust. "I could feel how wet you already are- I bet I could just make you wet all over."

Stiles just nods dizzily, hips jerking frantically as he make his way up Derek's love handle, overcome by the *need* to drown himself in Derek's manly juices. He tips himself off the edge and fall into Derek's chocolatey depths.

Swallowing Stiles hole, Derek finally creams himself.

 

The End  
(Tell me what you think!! Remember, I'll only rite more fics if you comment!!)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry. Feel free to flame below. ;)


End file.
